"The Duchess of North Hudson," the girl answered, wrinkling her nose in affected hauteur. "She's slumming. Seeing how the other half lives." "Does she come often?" "Only when she gets tired of being a lady. Right now she's celebrating her separation from her second husband." Abruptly Ostby sensed something was wrong. He glanced into the mirror. At the door stood a half dozen of the police. His gaze shifted to the rear entrance. He saw another party of police there. "If you'll excuse me," he said to the girl, as he stepped down from his stool, "I believe I'll have a word with the Duchess." The girl's mouth made a round O as he left her. Ostby paused directly in front of the Duchess. Her attention swept up to him. "My name is Captain Faas, formerly of the Imperator's private guards," he said, bowing deeply enough to show courtesy, but not so deeply as to seem subservient. "May I be so bold as to hope that the Duchess has not forgotten me?" There was no recognition in the Duchess's look but there was interest. "Should I remember you?" she asked. "It was my privilege to meet her grace at the winter games a few years ago," Ostby answered. The look he gave her was appreciative of what he saw. The Duchess returned the look without recognition, but with amused acknowledgment of a clever approach. "Of course," she said. "How could I have forgotten? Won't you join us?" "You are very kind," Ostby said. From the corner of his eye he saw that the soldiers were drawing nearer. They were demanding identity cards from all the men. "If I may presume on that kindness," he said to the Duchess, "would you do me the honor of dancing with me?" The Duchess hesitated for a barely perceptible instant. "I would be happy to," she said. * * * * * The Duchess danced well. Ostby followed the waltz piece with a fine sense of the music's rhythm that women love. The Duchess' dress was worn off her rounded shoulders and each breath stirred the fullness of her breasts against the dress. At the side of the dance floor he saw that a lieutenant of the police was waiting politely for them to finish their dance. The big test would come soon. "You say we met at the winter games," the Duchess mused. She looked up at Ostby. "We danced at the ball after the games, did we not?" "That's right," Ostby answered, while one part of his mind considered the problem of the lieutenant waiting for them. "That is why I asked you to dance. I'd hoped it would recall our acquaintance." "Acquaintance is such a formal word," the Duchess said teasingly, and Ostby knew, without pride, that she was reacting to that intangible something about him that pleased women. He looked down into her eyes and noted just a suggestion of permanent crinkles at the corners. He judged her age as about thirty-three, seven years older than himself.